Partners
by gottabefree
Summary: When Kevin Ryan and Javier Esposito first met, Ike Thornton had been dead for four months. Esposito was still loyal to his old partner, not wanting anything to do with this new blue-eyed detective from Narcotics.


When Kevin Ryan and Javier Esposito first met, Ike Thornton had been dead for four months.

Esposito was still loyal to his old partner, not wanting anything to do with the new blue-eyed detective from Narcotics. He didn't want some rookie trawling through his crime scenes, fumbling with evidence and asking permission to do every damn thing. Rookies required constant maintenance and endless patience and Esposito just didn't have that. He wanted his experienced partner back, the one who knew what to do before Espo even asked.

He was still mourning the loss of Ike, and didn't want to replace him with anyone, especially not this eager, baby-faced new guy.

"Beckett, come on, seriously? Him? He'd probably puke at the first dead body he sees!" Esposito whispered angrily to Beckett, trying to stop the detective in question from hearing. Esposito may not like him, but he wasn't cruel.

Beckett sighed, running her right hand through her hair while her left hand gripped her coffee mug, sparing a quick glance over at the young Irish detective, who was dutifully running a background check on their latest suspect. "I don't like it either, but Montgomery told me he's good."

Esposito crossed his arms, frown deepening and growled, "He's a damn rookie! He's not experienced enough!"

Ryan could see the argument taking place from his new desk. He had a fairly good idea what it was about due to the constant hand gestures spiking the air in his direction and the glares Esposito was throwing his way.

He knew Esposito had just lost his old partner, and so was trying not to take it personally but it was hard when he could almost feel the whispers sliding around the bull pen, slinking their way to his ears as the friction in Beckett's team became more obvious.

He missed Narcotics, missed giving advice and sharing stories and knowing the in jokes because he'd helped create them. Homicide had been his dream since he'd decided to be a cop, but apparently he just didn't fit in here.

* * *

Esposito looked at his so-called partner as he exited the car, rubbing his hands together in an effort to stay warm in the cool December air. They'd gotten their first fresh murder since Ryan had joined and he wanted to see Ryan's reaction. He and a few other detectives had made a bet on what would happen when Ryan saw his first body the other night in the bar. He was personally betting on his partner hurling, or at least gagging.

A young woman had been found. She'd been stabbed repeatedly and left to bleed to a lonely death in a dirty alley. A typical murder in New York. Blood was everywhere, congealing in pools and drying in bloody streaks on the walls, where she'd slid down to collapse against a dumpster, her blonde hair mixing with the rotting food and old newspapers. She'd clearly struggled and her wide, glassy eyes revealed the utter panic and helplessness she'd felt as the knife had plunged into her stomach repeatedly, hands clutching the bloody mess in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

If truth be told, Esposito felt a little nauseous himself but his face remained as stoic as always. Hell would freeze over before he'd show it though.

As the crime scene came into view, he glanced across at Ryan, who was standing beside him. His lips were pressed shut and his forehead slightly wrinkled as he gazed at the dead woman, but other than that, there were no signs of discomfort. And definitely no screaming, fainting, crying, puking or quitting on the spot, as Esposito and the other detectives had hypothesized during the third round of beers.

Esposito was more than a little shocked as he watched Ryan walk straight under the crime scene tape and call out a greeting to Lanie as he carefully squatted next to the body, helping Lanie examine her wrists for any defensive wounds and carefully noting the time of death in his little notebook. Like a true professional.

As he took a step towards his partner, he felt himself being heavily slapped on the back and a heavy arm slung over his shoulders and the deep voice of Detective Joshua Bryce boomed in his ear, carrying across the alley, "Well, I'll be damned, Espo! The rookie kept his breakfast! Looks like you an' me owe Tenner 50 bucks each! And I was sure he'd faint too!"

Silence swept through the alley, leaving only the soundtrack of New York traffic to be heard as Bryce's words bounced back and forth.

Esposito could only watch as Ryan's head snapped up as he spun around, a look of betrayal and hurt clearly painted in his bright blue eyes.

Shame flowed through the Hispanic detective. He hadn't meant for Ryan to find out. It was meant to be a joke, and had seemed funny after a few beers. Didn't seem funny anymore.

Throwing Bryce's arm off of him, Esposito took a step towards Ryan, to apologize, but Ryan was already turning back to Lanie, back stiff and fists clenched, as he asked what kind of weapon was used. A glare from Lanie confirmed that Beckett would hear about this.

Shit. Esposito had fucked up big time.

* * *

Ryan slouched on his couch, beer in hand. Four empty bottles were already on the coffee table. The TV was off but he still found himself staring at it with dead eyes.

He was the joke of homicide.

Taking a long drink, Ryan felt anger flow through him. So what if he looked younger than he was. So what if he was new. He was a damn good cop! Just ask anyone in Narcotics! He'd proved himself there and he'd prove himself here.

Except Javier Esposito clearly thought he couldn't handle it. Esposito, the guy who was supposed to have his back, his _partner_ had bet that he'd lose it at the crime scene. As if he'd never seen a body before. Hell, he'd been the cause of some bodies back at Narcotics.

He was a joke.

"Fuck!" he yelled, throwing the bottle at the wall.

A fucking _bet._

"Fuck, fuck, _FUCK!"_

Beer dripped down the wall.

Why wasn't he taken seriously? He did everything that was asked of him. He wasn't fucking useless!

"Fuck." He'd whispered it this time. The anger had gone, leaving him as empty as each of the bottles on the table.

His eyes drifted over to the broken beer bottle. He should probably clean that up. He didn't move.

A quiet knock sounded on his door.

Grabbing his gun, just in case, he yanked the door open so violently that Esposito tumbled inside.

Too tired to do anything, Ryan turned back to his kitchen to grab another beer.

Esposito watched his new partner walk away, guilt swirling within him. Maybe this hadn't been a good idea. He hesitated, before following his partner in and sitting on the couch. He noticed the row of empty bottles and the smashed one on the wall. It was pretty hard to miss them, they seemed to be mocking him. Evidence to the damage he'd caused.

Ryan returned, a beer in each hand and gun nowhere in sight. He chucked one to Esposito, who couldn't help but smile. Even angry, he was being a good host. Always polite, Ryan was.

Both men had yet to say a word to each other. Silence was choking up the room, only broken by the occasional rustle of clothing as Esposito shuffled awkwardly.

Both men stared at the TV. It was still off.

Ryan was the one to break the silence. "You were betting high."

Esposito's mouth opened and then slowly closed at the casual words that stung like a harsh winter wind on exposed ears and cheeks. He cleared his throat and said quietly "Yeah, well you proved us all wrong. Shouldn't've bet against my partner. Should've had your back, man."

Ryan nodded slowly. Neither looked away from the TV.

"So, I got an Xbox. Wanna play something?" Ryan asked taking a swig of beer and nodding towards the TV both had been staring at intently.

"Sure, whaddya got?"

"Uh, Madden-"

"Hold on, Madden? Bro, I'm gonna kick your ass."

"Dude, you're more likely to throw up at a crime scene than beat me."

"Wanna bet?"

"Why not? Loser does all paperwork for a week."

"And pays for tomorrow's beers."

Ryan just smirked as he handed Espo his controller before walking to the kitchen to get two more beers.

"Going to get your wallet out, bro?" Esposito called after him.

"Yeah, to accept your cash."

"Just like yo mom did."

"Low blow, Espo, low blow," Ryan grinned as he returned and started up the game.

"Just like yo mom gave me!"

"Ew! Your putting images in my head!"

"All part of my tactic of distracting you 'til you lose."

"Hey, some people need all the help they can get."

"I like to think of it as insurance."

"Call it what you want, it won't help."

Esposito risked a glance over at his partner. Ryan was leaning forwards in concentration, tongue slightly out and grinning madly as he worked the controller, still firing out the banter. He wasn't so bad, Espo decided. He wasn't Ike, but that wasn't a terrible thing. Ike was gone. He'd never played Madden with Ike and jokes didn't roll off his tongue like this with Ike. He was Ryan, and he was different from Ike. Esposito could now admit that he was happy with that.

The beer still dripped down the wall, forming a puddle of broken glass and alcohol. But it was forgotten as all eyes were on the flickering TV screen and catcalls and cheers burst through the room.

* * *

"Can I ask you a question?" asked Esposito lazily as he leaned back into his chair, twirling around slowly to face Ryan.

"Kinda just did," replied Ryan grinning as he glanced over his shoulder at the revolving detective. Then frowned.

Esposito understood immediately and stopped. They'd been partners now for almost two years. That was easily long enough that each could understand the other's body language, and Esposito had seen the slight frown and wince, and knew spinning like that was not helping Ryan's headache.

Ever since that first night at Ryan's place, with the coded apology and forgiveness that hung in the air, the two cops had never once mentioned the bet. Esposito still remembered the look on Ryan's face when he'd heard Bryce, the smashed beer on the wall. The silence that had smothered them for almost half an hour, trying to extinguish their partnership.

Esposito paused, trying to figure out how to phrase this. "You know today? With the suspect?"

"Um, yeah. I was there," said Ryan slowly, trying to figure out where Esposito was going with this.

"Why'd you look so surprised when I said you were the best partner I'd had?"

Ryan remembered what had happened perfectly. They'd knocked on the door of the perp's rundown apartment and when the door had opened, Esposito had demanded the lanky man come to the precinct for questioning. The suspect, a young man called Greg Kiddson who was obviously high, had run, predictably, shoving past Ryan on the way out.

The two cops had chased after him, down the stairs and onto the shuffling streets of New York. Kiddson had turned down an alley and Ryan had pulled ahead and tackled him to the ground. Kiddson still believed that freedom was a possibility and so had elbowed Ryan hard in the face, once, twice, three times in a futile attempt to break free, causing a free fireworks show to erupt behind Ryan's eyes and a geyser of blood to burst from his nose.

It hadn't worked and Ryan had cuffed him, squinting as the world swayed and the handcuffs seemed to float away. Espo had arrived to Kiddson lying on the ground, cuffed and Ryan tilting his head back to try and stop the nosebleed while gently probing his nose, checking for breaks.

Seeing the damage done to his partner, he punched Kiddson in the gut. Hard. Three times. And whispered menacingly to the wheezing, hunched man "If I were you, I wouldn't touch him again. He's the best damn partner I've had and I don't take kindly to crackheads that hit him."

Yeah, Ryan remembered that well. In his concussed state, those two sentences had brought tears to his eyes. But the two rarely talked about Ike Thornton, and Ryan was hesitant to mention him.

But one glance at his partner's serious and slightly worried brown eyes and Ryan found himself confessing, not quite able to meet his partner's eyes. "I always kinda thought Ike was better. I'm the new guy, remember?"

"Bro, Ike's gone. I miss him, but he's not you." And Esposito meant it. He'd never forget Ike, but it wasn't betraying Ike's memory to have a new partner.

Ryan grinned, confidence springing back. He jumped up and grabbed his jacket and said "Come on; let's get out of here before more paperwork arrives. It's Madden time."

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea, bro. You've already had your ass kicked today. You sure you wanna go through it again?" Esposito yelled as he caught up to Ryan.

Ryan's outraged squawk echoed through the 12th precinct as Esposito laughed and slung his arm over his partner's shoulders, flicking another insult over while Ryan complained about abuse to injured detectives.

* * *

**Phew, that was hard to get out. I think I've strained my wrists from typing. I have figured out how these line breaks work though, so I feel like a true fanfiction professional. I know Espo may seem a little mean here, but I think he's lashing out because of Ike's death. I hope I got the feelings and banter right. Not sure if I quite did though.**

**So that's my view on how Ryan and Espo became the partners we all know and love. Tell me what you guys think, you know you want to!**


End file.
